


Stars and Scars

by Aneiria



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Minor mention of infidelity, Multi, Shameless Smut, Smut, Soulmate marks, Soulmates, Triad - Freeform, Unspeakable Hermione Granger, not a slow burn, soulbound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:00:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27858737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aneiria/pseuds/Aneiria
Summary: Hermione Granger's life was going quite nicely, thank you very much. The war was long over, and she had a great job and wonderful friends.The last thing she needed was a relationship.But fate, it seems, has other plans...
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 98
Kudos: 482





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as ever to the wonderful [Grace Lou Freebush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grace_lou_freebush/pseuds/grace_lou_freebush) for her beta help and general all-round awesomeness!
> 
> This is pre-written, coming in at ten chapters and an epilogue, and I'll be updating every other week. 
> 
> Enjoy! 💖

Hermione Jean Granger had been born at ten twenty-three in the morning after a quick and easy labour to a delighted Jean Granger. 

This mid-morning birth time was the reason Hermione wouldn’t see the marks on her ribs until much later that day. Instead, she spent most of her twenty-first birthday completely unaware of the way her life was about to change.

She woke up and went through her usual morning routine - feeding Crookshanks, showering, getting dressed for work, and eating a quick breakfast in her kitchen with the Daily Prophet open on the table - trying to ignore the ache in her heart at the absence of a birthday card from her parents. The healers in Australia were making good progress in reversing Hermione’s _Obliviation_ of them, but it could be years yet before the Grangers remembered who they really were, let alone that they had a daughter. 

Hermione had her other family, though: the friends she had learned magic alongside, had fought in the war with. She smiled as Pigwidgeon collided with her window and dazedly hopped onto her windowsill, squawking excitedly, and let the tiny owl in. She untied the parcel he was carrying and offered him some owl treats and water before he zoomed off again into the sky. The parcel was haphazardly wrapped in red paper decorated with lions, and Hermione carefully unwrapped it. Inside she found a new journal bound in dragon leather and an eagle-owl quill pen with a silver nib. 

She opened up the journal and found a card tucked inside, Ron’s messy scrawl all over it.

_Happy birthday, Mione!_

_I know you needed a new journal, and Charlie made this one! All the dragonologists in Romania have one, the leather is harvested once a dragon dies from natural causes on the reserve so it’s cruelty-free. Thought you’d approve._

_Lots of love,_

_Ron_

It had been three years since she and Ron had broken up, just as she’d returned to Hogwarts to finish her NEWTs. Ron was still one of her best friends, of course. Not even an unsuccessful two-month love affair could destroy the bond between them. 

He was waiting by her desk when she got to work that morning, standing side by side with her other best friend. Harry smiled at her, his green eyes sparkling, and gave her a lingering kiss to the cheek as he wished her a happy birthday. His touch, as always, left her skin tingling, even after Ron enveloped her in a bear hug. 

‘We’re still on for birthday lunch, aren’t we?’ Ron asked while Hermione hung her robes on the hook by her door and sifted through the parchment and memos on her desk. 

‘Of course,’ she agreed absent-mindedly. ‘And then the Leaky Cauldron after work for drinks with everyone else.’

She caught a movement from the corner of her eye and saw Harry giving a furtive glance at the old watch of Fabian Prewett’s he still wore every day on his wrist. 

Harry had filled out since the war, shooting up several more inches and adding a very aesthetically-pleasing broadness to his chest and thighs. He caught her eye and Hermione looked away guiltily, feeling a telltale blush rise on her cheeks. _Merlin_ , she thought to herself, _stop ogling Harry!_ Sure, he was as handsome as ever, but that didn’t give her permission to drool over someone who saw her as a sister. 

‘It’s time for the daily briefing…’ Harry said now, a touch apologetically. He took his duties as Head Auror seriously, just like he had when he headed up the DA back in Hogwarts. Hermione smiled and abandoned her paperwork, walking around her desk and in between the two of her friends.

‘Of course, come on!’ she said with forced cheerfulness. Ron and Harry followed her, and she stood next to Ron as Harry gave the DMLE’s daily briefing. 

Hermione returned to her desk afterwards slowly, accosted on all sides by Aurors wishing her happy birthday. It always made her smile to see how many of the DA had ended up in the DMLE under Harry’s watch. 

Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, already married and quite possibly the most accident-prone Auror pair the DMLE had ever seen, ambushed her from both sides, hugging her and giving her a bottle of sparkling elf-made wine and a bouquet of flowers. 

Neville Longbottom gave her a new potted plant for her desk, for once one that just made the room smell nice rather than having a highly-specific use. 

Padma Patil, one of the few non-Aurors in the department besides Hermione, gave her a book and a caddy of a new tea to try. 

Even Draco Malfoy gave her a short nod from across the room, his silver eyes as guarded as ever. 

Hermione finally got back to her desk and allowed herself a small smile before she started on her workload for the morning. 

Three years had passed since the war, and Hermione Granger was feeling pretty good about life.

* * *

Lunch was a relaxed affair. Harry took them to a new, little cafe he’d found on Horizont Alley, and he, Ron, and Hermione spent a little longer than usual away from their desks, enjoying each other’s company and reminiscing about old times. 

They eventually returned to the Ministry. Ron and Harry were due to interview an old Pureblood witch about a stolen family heirloom and left the building while Hermione slid behind her desk, determined to finish her work so she could leave for her birthday celebrations on time that evening without feeling guilty. 

She’d been steadily working for several hours when the door to her office opened. 

Draco Malfoy walked in, the dark blue of his Auror robes setting off the cool silver of his eyes and the alabaster of his skin.

He’d filled out as nicely as Harry had since school. No longer could Hermione describe him as pointy, even at her most uncharitable. Instead, he’d grown into his excellent bone structure, his jawline and cheekbones sharp and elegant, his body tall and lithe and strong. Whereas Harry had developed more of a Keeper’s or Beater’s bearing, all muscles and breadth and threat, Draco had become the quintessential Seeker: graceful, quick and light on his feet. 

Draco arched his eyebrow in the same imperious manner as always, however, and his signature smirk was firmly in place. He dropped a beautifully wrapped present on the table with a thump.

‘Malfoy, what—’

‘Don’t get excited, Granger,’ Malfoy drawled, taking a step back. ‘It’s less of a gift, more of a donation. It’s been in our library at the Manor for decades, and I’m sure no one has read it since it was new.’

Hermione’s pulse started to race with excitement. As much as she wouldn’t want to set foot in Malfoy Manor again, the thought of being let loose in their library was another thing entirely. She went to open the present, and Malfoy, clearly not wanting to stay, backed away.

‘Happy birthday, Granger,’ he said, his voice unusually soft for a moment. ‘I’ll see you at the pub for drinks after work.’ He spun dramatically on his heel and was gone. 

Hermione watched the empty space where he had been standing for a moment, then with a shrug turned back to the present. When she ripped away the paper, she gasped in surprise, carefully opening the front cover to the book to confirm her suspicions. 

A pristine first edition of _Hogwarts: A History_ , signed by Bathilda Bagshot herself. Clutching the priceless gift to her chest, Hermione ran out after Draco, but his long legs had already taken him across the Auror bullpen, his robes swishing as he disappeared through the door into the Ministry beyond. Instead of following him, Hermione hesitated in her doorway for a few moments until she noticed Angelina Johnson giving her a concerned look. Throwing a smile at Angelina, Hermione retreated to her office.

It wasn’t as if she and Malfoy weren’t friends: he regularly came along to after-work drinks with them, they ate lunch together about once a month, and for Harry’s birthday over the summer, he’d even braved a visit to the Burrow for the celebrations. Hermione had surreptitiously watched him spend most of that day playing with his cousin Teddy Lupin, until the boy was so enamoured with his previously-estranged uncle that he turned his turquoise hair platinum blond for the next four weeks. 

Still, it was a big step between casual friend and friend who gave priceless first editions as birthday presents. With a wave of her wand, Hermione shrunk the book down so she could slip it safely into her handbag before turning back to the pile of paperwork on her desk. 

* * *

When five in the afternoon rolled around, Padma stuck her head through the door and gave Hermione a dazzling smile. 

‘Ready for the pub?’ she asked as Hermione closed her final case file. 

‘Sure,’ Hermione replied, getting to her feet and reaching for her robes.

‘We’ve got a DoM meeting on Monday, did you get the memo?’ Padma added as they walked out of Hermione’s office and Hermione locked it behind her.

‘I did, thanks,’ she said, checking in her bag to make sure her book was still safe. ‘It’ll be good catching up with the other Unspeakables, see what’s going on down there.’

Hermione and Padma had been good friends for a couple of years now, ever since they had gone through their Unspeakable training together. Soon after qualifying, their respective specialties had made them invaluable to the DMLE. They continued working together while seconded to the department, helping the Aurors with their missions. 

Reaching the bullpen, Hermione and Padma collected a number of Aurors on their way to the Leaky Cauldron. Harry and Ron were still missing, stuck interviewing the old witch no doubt, and Malfoy hadn’t reappeared since giving Hermione her present earlier in the afternoon. 

Padma bought Hermione’s first drink, and they and the Aurors claimed the enormous table in the middle of the pub as their own. It was several hours later - Hermione already merry from the wine, Padma giggling into her shoulder - when Harry and Ron finally arrived.

They bought another bottle of wine and poured her a glass, Ron sitting on Padma’s other side as Harry squeezed in next to Hermione. Padma and Ron started chatting, and Harry raised his glass to Hermione, clinking the rim of hers.

‘Having a good evening?’ Harry asked cheerfully, and she nodded. 

Harry looked over the pub as he took a drink of his wine, casually entwining his fingers with hers on the table. Hermione tried not to get too excited by the touch of his skin against hers, the easy display of affection, even as she felt a tingle run up her fingers and along her arm. 

They’d kissed, she and Harry. 

Just once, a few months after she and Ron had broken up, while Harry was still dating Ginny. It had been Christmastime, after a night of drinks very like this one, and they’d walked out into Diagon Alley with the snow floating softly to earth and the night sky crisp and cold. Hermione had been shivering, and Harry wrapped his own scarf around her neck. As he’d tucked the ends away into her coat, his green eyes had met hers, and before Hermione had time to process what was happening, they were kissing under the muted light of the street lamps. It had only lasted a moment, and then they had guiltily sprung apart and never spoken of it again.

Hermione still thought about it, though. Whenever Harry’s green eyes lingered on hers or his fingers brushed her skin or he smiled at her from across the room or his thigh pressed a little too close to hers when they sat next to each other, she remembered the fleeting feel of his lips on hers, of being in his arms. She thought about it now, as Harry held her hand and drank his wine, and breathed deeply to calm herself. Really, she’d had too much wine to be dealing with confusing thoughts about her best friend right now.

‘I thought Malfoy was coming tonight?’ Harry said, bringing her back to the present, his eyes searching the room. 

‘He is supposed to be,’ Hermione replied. Great, another thing to try and keep from thinking about. Her heart gave a little flutter as she thought a bit too long about Malfoy’s smirking lips and the generous, perfect present he had given her. 

As if summoned by the combined thoughts of Harry and Hermione, Draco Malfoy chose that moment to stride through the door of the Leaky Cauldron. Cool, grey eyes swept the room, landing first on Harry. His gaze slowed, lingering on him, and then shifted to meet Hermione’s. He gave her a slow smile and nodded towards the bar, letting her know he was getting a drink. 

‘He’s finally back, then,’ said Harry. Hermione shot him a questioning look, and he carried on. ‘I probably should have sent someone out with him this afternoon. Didn’t think that Potions smuggler would have that much inventory to log.’

From Hermione’s other side, Ron and Padma disappeared together - a common occurrence for the two of them when the drinks were flowing. When Draco got to the table, a bottle of suspiciously expensive-looking firewhisky and three tumblers in his hands, he slid into Padma’s empty seat next to Hermione.

‘Potter,’ Draco said with a nod to Harry at her other side. ‘Granger,’ he continued with a wicked glint to his eye. He poured three glasses of the firewhisky, sliding one across the table to Harry and handing one to Hermione. He raised his glass to them both. ‘Happy birthday.’

The three of them drank deeply. The firewhisky was much nicer than the regular stuff and slid smoothly down Hermione’s throat, leaving a delicious burning behind. 

‘Fuck, Malfoy, bringing out the good stuff,’ Harry laughed, his hand squeezing Hermione’s and making her mind go momentarily blank. To make matters worse, Malfoy shifted next to her, his long, muscled thigh pressing against hers as he leaned over to top up Harry’s glass. Hermione wasn’t sure if the fuzziness in her head was from the firewhisky or the two boys flanking her.

‘Any excuse to get a pair of Gryffindors drunk,’ Malfoy said with a smirk. ‘You do both make good entertainment when inebriated,’ he added with a glint in his eyes that suggested the evening was only just beginning.

* * *

It ended up being a late night. They didn’t leave the pub until after Tom rang the bell for last orders several times over. Draco insisted Hermione finish the rest of the vintage Old Ogden’s he’d bought, Harry hugged her long and hard and let his lips brush against her cheek in goodbye, and Hermione finally stumbled through the Floo and into her bedroom. 

She was already down to her underwear and halfway through pulling on one of Harry’s old Gryffindor Quidditch jerseys she’d stolen to sleep in that she noticed it.

On her ribcage, on her left hand side. 

It looked like she had spilled ink over herself and the ink had spattered into a beautiful pattern. When she ran her hand over it, the marks were raised, like tiny scars on her skin, and didn’t smudge under her fingertips. Frowning now, Hermione tossed the jersey back on the bed and turned to her floor-length mirror, standing close so she could get a good view. 

It wasn’t spilled ink, but there were marks on her skin. Thin black lines; two distinct shapes. 

One of them was a jagged lightning bolt. The exact same shape Hermione had spent ten years looking at on the forehead of her best friend. 

The other was a series of stars she recognised from years of Astronomy lessons: the dragon of the skies. The constellation Draco. 

With trembling fingers, she traced the marks again. She vaguely remembered reading something about magical marks appearing at the start of adulthood, back in the Hogwarts library in eighth year, but when she tried to focus in on the information her head hurt horribly. Her stomach feeling suddenly heavier, and not just because of the copious amounts of wine and firewhisky she’d drunk, Hermione spun away from the mirror and hurriedly pulled on her jersey and climbed into bed. Crookshanks jumped up with her, nuzzling up to her and for once letting her wrap her arms tightly around him. It was late, she was drunk, and she was tired. Hermione resolved to go to sleep, hope the marks were a drink-fuelled dream, and start again in the morning.

* * *

It didn’t get any better in the morning. 

The marks were still there, along with a throbbing hangover that even the strongest cup of coffee couldn’t cure. Trying her best to ignore both her headache and the glare of disapproval from Crookshanks when he realised their Saturday morning sofa cuddle wasn’t going to happen, Hermione pulled on a thick jumper and a hat to protect herself against the chilly September air and took the Floo back to the Leaky Cauldron. It was a quick walk from there to Flourish and Blotts, and Hermione soon found herself deep in the stacks. Normally, she’d let herself get lost amongst the books, emerging hours later with a new pile to buy, but not today. Today, she knew exactly what she was looking for, paid for it quickly, not meeting the bookseller’s eye, and scurried off towards home once again. 

Hermione was almost back at the Leaky Cauldron, eyes downcast to avoid anyone she might know, when she barrelled into a hard, tall object with a disturbingly familiar scent. Landing heavily on her bum on the ground, Hermione groaned and went to push herself back up. A hand appeared in front of her, and looking up, she saw the unmistakable flash of silver eyes of the man whose namesake was now rather inconveniently tattooed onto her skin. 

‘Granger,’ Malfoy drawled, closing the gap between their hands and grasping her wrist to pull her to her feet. ‘How is my little lioness this morning?’

A part of Hermione’s mind went limp at the endearment, but she managed a weak scowl, instantly wincing as the movement exacerbated her hangover headache. Malfoy nodded, his eyes sympathetic, and slowly pulled his hand from hers, leaving behind the memory of his touch on her skin. 

‘Not surprised you’re feeling rough; we got through a lot of firewhisky last night. The vintage stuff is potent.’ Draco rummaged in his robe pocket, eventually pulling out a tiny vial of dark blue liquid. ‘Here, this will help. Hangover potion. One of my own creations. It’s the only thing that got me to Diagon Alley this morning,’ he finished with a rueful grin, and Hermione finally noticed the violet shadows beneath his eyes, the slight pallor to his already pale skin. 

She plucked the vial from his fingers, unstoppering it and swallowing the contents without hesitation. There had been a time when Hermione would never have dreamed of drinking any potion Malfoy gave her, but after three years of watching him train with Harry, qualify as an Auror, and work hard to redeem his reputation, that time had passed. Instantly, her head started to clear, and she breathed a sigh of relief, clutching the paper bag with her book close to her chest.

‘Thank you. Why are you even here today?’

He gave her a considered look. ‘I had to get some potion supplies from the apothecary,’ he explained, holding up a bag of ingredients. ‘I need to brew my mother some potions this weekend.’ His eyes flickered down to the bag she held but he didn’t question her. ‘If you’re done, would you like to get some lunch? There’s a new place opened by Fortescue’s that’s supposed to be good.’

Hermione stared at him blankly for a moment too long. 

He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. ‘It’s fine if you don’t want - I mean, I understand not wanting to be seen with—’

‘Malfoy, no, it’s not that,’ she interrupted him before he could finish. ‘It’s just - I’m tired; I think I just need to go home and have a nap. Maybe next time?’

He nodded slowly, a fleeting emotion chasing across his eyes - disappointment? relief? - before his expression became guarded once more in that familiar way. 

‘Of course, Granger,’ he said softly. ‘Next time.’

With a sweep of his robes, Malfoy disappeared into the crowds of the alley, and Hermione hurried into the Leaky Cauldron and headed straight for the Floo, trying not to dwell on the way her skin had burned when he touched her or the way her heart ached when she turned down his lunch invitation.

* * *

Safely ensconced behind her walls, Crookshanks finally curled up on her lap, Hermione took a sip of her tea and opened her brand new copy of _Magical_ _Soulmates_ by Engelbert Hawkley. She turned the pages quickly, stopping at the chapter on soul marks, reading so fast she could soon feel a stress headache taking over the lingering remnants of her firewhisky headache. 

_“On very rare occasions, on the anniversary of the twenty-first year of birth, witches or wizards who were bound to another’s soul would find a mark on their skin, like a tattoo, guiding them towards the witch or wizard their magic was destined to be entwined with.”_

The book went on to explain how, even before the soul marks appeared, there would a spark of attraction between the pair. When the first partner gained their marks, the dormant attraction would start to awaken if a relationship wasn’t already in place. There was nothing in the book about having double soul marks, but the meanings were unmistakable. 

Hermione Granger had two soulmates: her oldest friend, and her oldest enemy. 

If her theory was right, then when Draco turned twenty-one in June, nine months from now, he would find a similar set of soul marks etched on his skin. And then Harry would have the same revelation, another month and a half after that. 

Hermione buried her face in Crookshanks’ fur to stop herself from crying. 

There was only one thing for it.

Hermione was going to have to keep this secret until June.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Hermione,’ Harry said, his voice strange, as he looked above them. She followed his gaze and felt her heart skip a beat at the sight that greeted her. 
> 
> A large sprig of mistletoe, white berries gleaming in the firelight, bloomed above their heads. Its green tendrils grew as they watched until it flourished over them. 

Hermione managed well until Christmas. 

By the time December rolled around, she’d about gotten used to the marks on her ribs. They’d been easy enough to hide, at least. It wasn’t as if she made a habit of flashing her midriff, and she’d had no occasion for anyone to see her naked since her birthday. 

If she were being honest with herself, she hadn’t _wanted_ anyone to see her naked since her birthday. At least no-one except Harry and Draco. Despite this, over the past few months she had managed well.

But then Christmas happened. 

Hermione Apparated into Ottery St Catchpole, a reluctant Crookshanks in her arms, feeling the chill in her cheeks as soon as she landed outside the Burrow. She hurried to the front door, which was already opening with Ron’s smiling face greeting her. 

‘Happy Christmas, Hermione!’ he called out excitedly, pulling her close for a bear hug as she reached the door, Crookshanks squashed with a mewl of outrage between them. 

She smiled into his jumper. Coming to the Burrow always felt like coming home. ‘Happy Christmas, Ron,’ she replied, breaking free and setting Crookshanks down.

He pulled her into the kitchen, festooned with sparkling fairy lights, rows of tinsel, and tiny enchanted snowflakes falling from the ceiling, and helped her out of her coat and scarf. The stove was on, and a pan of hot chocolate was slowly stirring itself. From further within the house, Hermione could hear the familiar murmurings of the rest of the Weasley family, as well as the deep, happy tones of Harry. 

She and Harry were always invited for the entire festivities, Molly fussing over them as lovingly as any of her red-haired brood, and this year was no different. 

Ron was busy pouring them both a mug of hot chocolate, and with a nod of his head, he started towards the living room. ‘Mum’s going to be so happy to see you,’ he said cheerfully as they made their way through the warren of a house. ‘You know she’d have you here the whole week before Christmas, not just Christmas Eve, if it were up to her!’

The evening passed in a blur of warmth and love and merry-making until the horde of Weasleys disappeared to their respective bedrooms and the Burrow settled for the night.

Harry and Hermione were the only two left up. They curled up on one of the comfortable, threadbare sofas in front of a roaring fire, drinking mulled wine. The rich, warm smell of the drink and the smoky tang of the fire reminded her of something, something familiar and comforting, but she couldn’t quite place it. 

She and Harry talked in low voices, the house oddly quiet considering it was so full of Weasleys. A log crackled loudly on the fire, and Harry half-turned to her, his fingers clasped around his mug of mulled wine. 

‘This is nice,’ he murmured idly, leaning back against the cushions. ‘I feel like I haven’t seen much of you recently.’ 

Hermione squirmed guiltily, breathing in the rich spices of her mulled wine and then sipping the liquid as an excuse not to answer right away. 

Harry hadn’t seen much of her because she had been avoiding him as much as possible.

’You’re always down in the DoM or out with the other Aurors whenever I come to find you at work,’ Harry continued. 

‘It’s been busy, Harry,’ she said weakly.

‘I know,’ he said, his voice suddenly tired. The Head Auror was well aware of the workload of the department, after all, having assigned most of it, himself. He sighed and took a drink of his wine. ‘But let’s try and get together more in the new year. I miss you, Hermione.’ 

Harry shifted against the cushions then and dislodged Hermione from where she’d been propping herself up. She fell closer against his chest, and Harry’s arm wrapped around hers, his fingers gently stroking her side over her jumper. 

‘I miss you too, Harry,’ she admitted in a whisper, her heart and magic aching as she spoke. 

If only he had any idea the truth behind that statement. For the briefest of moments she thought about confiding in him, but logic soon overtook emotion. She had to wait - wait until both Draco and Harry’s birthdays. Another six months to go until Draco knew the truth.

Instead, they sat in silence, Hermione enjoying the warmth and comfort of being physically close to Harry, and she sighed happily as she felt her magic wrap around his. A second later, Harry nudged against her slightly, and his fingers brushed over the patch of skin where her soul marks lay through her jumper, sending a small shiver through her body. 

‘Hermione,’ Harry said, his voice strange, as he looked above them. She followed his gaze and felt her heart skip a beat at the sight that greeted her. 

A large sprig of mistletoe, white berries gleaming in the firelight, bloomed above their heads. Its green tendrils grew as they watched until it flourished over them. 

Hermione looked back at Harry and found his green eyes watching her carefully. He didn’t say anything, but his free hand reached up to stroke her cheek, hooking around her jaw. As Hermione held her breath, Harry gently angled her face towards him and kissed her. 

It was a tender kiss, long and slow. Harry’s body was hard against hers, his hand on her face gentle, the familiar fresh scent of him - like green grass under the summer sun - engulfing her. It felt so _right_ , but at the same time, Hermione had a strange, sad feeling of loss she couldn’t quite place. When Harry slowly pulled away again, she could tell by the confused expression in his eyes he could feel it too. 

* * *

It wasn’t until Christmas Day, which dawned bright and cold, that Hermione realised what had been missing. 

Harry’s godson, Teddy Lupin, came to the Burrow for Christmas dinner, and with him, his grandmother, Andromeda Tonks. 

With Andromeda came her recently un-estranged sister, Narcissa Malfoy. 

And with Narcissa came her two children. 

Theo Malfoy-Nott, whom she had adopted shortly after the end of the war, and of course, her biological son.

Draco Malfoy. 

The assorted Blacks entered the Burrow with wary eyes and nervous smiles, clearly not used to the chaos that was a Weasley family gathering. Molly whisked Andromeda and Narcissa away immediately for a glass of champagne in the kitchen. 

As Hermione loitered behind them, Harry and Ron shook hands politely enough with Theo, who smiled at them and wished them a merry Christmas.

Harry went to shake Draco’s hand but at the last moment pulled him in for a rough embrace instead. Ron and Theo didn’t say anything, but they shared a surprised look in their shock. Harry laughed awkwardly, pulling away again, and leaned down to pick his godson up for a massive hug. 

Draco ran his hand through his hair in the nervous tell Hermione had come to recognise after working with him in the DMLE for so long, and he caught her eye. As Theo turned to run the gauntlet of greetings from the rest of the Weasleys, starting with Ginny, who gave him a slow, appreciative look up and down, Draco smiled at Hermione. He walked over to her, leaning in to brush a gentle kiss against her cheek in greeting. She breathed in the delicious scent of him. 

Rich and spicy and smoky. 

Just like drinking mulled wine by the fireside.

‘Happy Christmas, Granger,’ Draco murmured, his silver eyes locked onto hers. Hermione felt a blush rise on her cheeks as her mind suddenly fixated on the fact she had his namesake literally tattooed on her skin. 

Draco’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Hermione hastily threw up what she knew to be a weak Occlumency shield. She’d never been naturally talented at Occlumency, but she had learned what she could during the war. She’d always suspected Draco of being a Legilimens, and the last thing she wanted was for her secret to be spilled here, like this, because of her noisy, untidy mind. 

The moment quickly passed as Charlie Weasley barged between them brandishing a platter of homemade mince pies, and Hermione smiled and quickly made her escape to the bedroom she was sharing with Ginny. Safely hidden away, Hermione cast a cooling charm over herself and gave herself a serious pep talk before heading back down for Christmas dinner.

Hermione found herself seated next to Narcissa Malfoy as they ate. She hadn’t seen Draco’s mother since the Battle of Hogwarts, all those years ago, and she was shocked by the difference. Gone was the strong, straight-backed witch determined to protect her son at all costs, and in her place was a wizened, delicate old lady who seemed decades older than Hermione knew her to be. 

Hermione didn’t question her: the war had taken its toll on everyone, after all. Even after all this time, Hermione kept her eyes averted from the empty seat at the head of the table that the Weasleys saved for Fred every year. 

Instead, she helped Narcissa dish up some vegetables, and on Narcissa’s other side, Hermione noticed Theo help cut up her meat. Feeling a sudden, painful ache of her heart as she thought of her own parents, celebrating Christmas in Australia as Monica and Wendell, Hermione blinked back a tear that threatened to escape and took a hasty gulp of wine before turning to Ginny on her right and starting a conversation about Quidditch. With the rising discussion of beaters and seekers and feints going on around her, Hermione let the noise and chaos overtake her and busy her mind. As she sat back in her seat, she looked up and saw Draco, sitting opposite her, give her a fleeting, sympathetic glance.

* * *

Later in the evening on Christmas Day, after the sun had set, Hermione wandered back into the kitchen after tending to Crookshanks in Ginny’s bedroom. Crookshanks had been fed, and he and Hermione had spent some time playing with the charmed mouse toy she’d bought her familiar as a Christmas present. The giant cat was now curled up on the soft duvet on her bed, snoring slightly through his squashed nose as he napped.

The rest of the group - Weasleys and assorted Blacks alike - were out in the garden, gathered around an enormous bonfire. Hermione pulled on her coat from the hook near the back door of the kitchen and moved to open the door when someone else walked into the kitchen. 

‘Wait,’ a familiar voice called softly to her. 

Hermione turned to find Draco approaching her, already wrapped in an elegant set of fur-lined, forest-green robes. He smiled at her and reached for the hook himself, pulling down a silver and green striped scarf. He held it forward in offering, and when Hermione didn’t move away, he stepped towards her, wrapping the scarf around her neck before also casting a warming charm on her. 

‘It’s cold out there,’ he said needlessly, his eyes not leaving hers. 

Hermione nodded. ‘It is December,’ she said with a small smile. 

Draco took another step forward, moving so close to Hermione she could feel his magic brush against hers. 

‘Always so clever, Granger,’ he said in a voice that was practically a growl, and in the next moment, Draco had leaned in, his hands resting on her hips, his lips meeting hers. 

Draco was like the fire of flames against Harry’s sunshine. 

The taste of him reminded Hermione of woodsmoke and spices. It was so intoxicating that for a moment she forgot where she was, and _when_ she was, and whose mouth opened willingly beneath hers. 

When a shout of glee from a Weasley floated in from the garden, Hermione was brought back to reality with an unwelcome snap. 

Draco pulled away slowly, as if aware of the shift in her thoughts. His silver eyes were guarded. 

‘Merry Christmas, Granger,’ he said quietly, and without another word, he disappeared into the garden and out to the bonfire. 

Hermione watched him go, waiting in stunned silence for a minute or two, her heart beating as wildly as a spooked Granian. She cautiously put her fingertips to her mouth, tracing her lips as if she could capture the taste of him with her touch. Another Weasley yell from outside broke her reverie. She pulled the borrowed scarf closer around her neck, breathing in the lingering scent of spice that had clung to Draco’s lips, and followed him out to the garden. 

She was pulled into the merry-making around the fire, a glass of warm mulled wine pressed into her hand by Molly. Ron slung his arm around her shoulders, and Ginny slid an arm around Hermione’s waist, resting her head in the crook of Hermione’s neck. Hermione noticed Theo stood to the other side of Ginny, close enough so their hips must have brushed against one another. 

Surrounded by friends that were as good as family, Hermione forgot she was wearing Draco’s scarf until she and Ginny stumbled back into their bedroom much later that night, more than slightly tipsy on Molly’s mulled wine. 

Undressing haphazardly and crawling into bed when she had her pyjamas on, Hermione found the scarf where she had thrown it next to her pillow. Pulling it towards her face and inhaling deeply, she could still smell Draco on the wool, the warm richness of him. Hermione felt her whole body heat up as she thought back to their stolen kiss and back again to Harry’s mouth on hers the day before. 

Waiting until the soft snores from Ginny’s bed meant her roommate was safely asleep, Hermione let her hand wander between her legs, circling her clit and then applying enough pressure to let herself come silently, her body tense and her lip caught between her teeth, thinking of Draco’s firm hands and Harry’s warm arms. 

She didn’t give Draco his scarf back.

* * *

Neither man mentioned their respective kisses after Christmas at the Burrow, and Hermione did her best to avoid finding herself alone with either Harry or Draco again. 

It wasn’t easy, working with both of them so closely in the DMLE. In desperation Hermione paired up with Ron as often as she could, so much so that Harry pulled her aside one day and asked quietly if she and Ron were back together. His voice and eyes were concerned, and Hermione could feel the tremor of alarm in his magic. 

Harry might be able to tell himself that that concern was from not wanting his friends to get hurt, but the affinity Hermione could feel in him through their potential bond told her it was from pure jealousy and protectiveness. 

Out of interest, Hermione cast her gaze over to Draco’s desk while Harry confronted her. Sure enough, he was watching the two of them with narrowed eyes, and when Hermione let her own magic reach out to him, she felt the flare of jealousy in him as well.

Reassuring Harry as best she could that she and Ron were only friends, Hermione fled for an early lunch as soon as she could. 

* * *

Finally, after nearly six months of avoiding the two men she most desperately desired intimacy with, the fifth of June dawned, and Hermione realised she probably only had a few more hours until she would have to face the inevitable firestorm of Draco Malfoy finding out the secret she’d been keeping. 

Hermione got dressed slowly that morning, wondering what time Draco had been born and when she could expect him to appear.

She didn’t have to wait long.

It wasn’t even nine o’clock before Draco came storming through Hermione’s office door, his silver eyes flashing angrily. He slammed the door shut behind him, stalking towards Hermione’s desk and planting both palms down on the wood.

‘Granger,’ Draco hissed, his voice low and dangerous. ‘I think we need to talk, don’t you?’


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Hermione weren’t the first to arrive. Draco sat nursing a Firewhisky at the same table they’d used for Hermione’s birthday all those months ago. Padma chatted happily away next to him, seemingly oblivious of the conversation being one-way. 
> 
> Draco looked up as Harry and Hermione entered. His gaze settled on Hermione’s arm linked with Harry’s, and his face settled into a scowl. Harry stopped halfway into raising his hand to say hello and sighed loudly. 
> 
> ‘This is going to be a long night, isn’t it?’ Harry said grimly. ‘I’ll go and get us some drinks.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2021! Thanks as ever for reading, I hope you enjoy this chapter! 
> 
> Love to [Grace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grace_lou_freebush/pseuds/grace_lou_freebush) as always for the beta. 
> 
> Next chapter will update in two weeks!

Draco Lucius Malfoy had been born at four thirty-six in the morning, after a long and arduous labour, to an exhausted Narcissa Malfoy.

It was for this reason he was at Hermione’s desk first thing on fifth June, eyes blazing angrily, lip curled in a snarl. 

Hermione took a deep breath and slowly pushed her chair back, getting to her feet as well. 

‘Malfoy, look, I wasn’t trying to hide any—’

‘You’ve known since your birthday, haven’t you?’ Draco interrupted her, standing straight and folding his arms across his chest. ‘Since _September_? Merlin’s fucking _balls_ , Granger, you should have said _something_.’

Hermione huffed and crossed her own arms, feeling her hair spark the way it always did when her temper flared. How dare Malfoy come charging in here, to _her_ office, and chastise her? After she'd spent nearly nine months dealing with all this alone?

‘Would you have believed me if I did, Malfoy?’ Hermione hissed in return, and his eyes narrowed at her, his lips pressed thinly together. 

‘Show me,’ he said, bluntly, instead of answering her question. 

Hermione felt the heat rush into her cheeks at his demand. She cast a furtive glance to her door, and Draco sighed loudly and half-turned towards it, crooking his fingers and casting a quick, wandless _Colloportus_ before turning back and arching a perfectly-groomed eyebrow at her. 

She threw her hands up in exasperation and grabbed the edge of her shirt, slowly pulling it up so her ribs were exposed to him. Draco’s own arms fell, and he walked around the side of the desk, his eyes locked on the skin of her side. 

She knew what he was seeing: the raised, darkened lines in her skin, as if tattooed there. A jagged lightning bolt and an unmistakable constellation. 

Draco’s fingers reached out slowly, as if in a dream, and a thrill of anticipation shivered through Hermione’s body as she thought for a split second his fingertips were going to brush her flesh. At the last moment, he stopped, hovering over the marks, and raised his eyes to hers. 

Draco didn’t have his usual cool, collected gaze Hermione had come to expect. Instead, his eyes were a maelstrom of emotions. He unbuttoned the cuff on his left arm and yanked up the sleeve of his shirt. Hermione had a moment of panic when she thought she was about to see his Dark Mark, but of course that was his other side. 

Instead, he twisted his arm so his forearm faced up, and Hermione could see two marks of his own etched into the skin: the same jagged lightning bolt that Hermione had and a different constellation. 

Hermione didn’t have the same self-control Draco had shown. She let her fingers trace the two marks on his arm, and Draco trembled very slightly under her touch. 

‘A constellation as well?’ Hermione asked in wonder. Since her birthday, she had spent countless hours wondering what her symbol would be, what mark Draco and Harry might wake up with on their own birthdays to represent her.

‘Virgo,’ Draco replied, his voice soft now. ‘Your birth sign.’

‘And statistically the birth sign of a twelfth of the world’s population,’ Hermione added primly, dropping her hand from Draco’s arm. His hand twitched, as if wanting to follow hers down. ‘How did you know it was me?’

‘You’re actually the only Virgo I know, Granger,’ Draco replied. ‘But it was obvious it was you.’

‘Obvious?’ Hermione asked, her voice a little sharper than intended. ‘How?’ 

Something shifted in Draco’s eyes, and it was like a shutter slid into place. Hermione could no longer sense any emotion behind the blank gaze. 

‘I could… _feel_ your magic. At Christmas, when we kissed. And since then, too. I can feel my magic trying to reach yours.’ Draco fell silent then, and they regarded each other thoughtfully. 

A click at the door as someone tried the door handle, only to find it locked, broke the growing silence between her and Draco. 

Padma’s confused voice floated in from the other side. ‘Hermione? We have that meeting down in the DoM now. Is everything okay?’

 _Damn_. Hermione frowned as she looked up at the clock on her wall; sure enough, it read five to the hour. She called out to her friend. ‘Just a minute, Padma! I have to go,’ she added to Draco, apologetically and more than a little frustrated. She wanted nothing more than to drag him off somewhere quiet to talk about this, the secret she’d been carrying alone for so long. 

Draco clearly felt the same. ‘We need to talk more,’ he said, his voice firm. She saw him do the mental maths: lunch would be too short and too public, Draco’s birthday drinks were at the Leaky Cauldron straight after work that evening. Tomorrow was Friday, another work day. ‘Tomorrow. After work. Would you—’ here he broke off, his face settling into a small frown. ‘We should speak somewhere private. Would you be happy coming to the Manor?’ he asked now, his voice softer. 

Hermione felt her stomach drop at the mere mention of Draco’s ancestral home. For a moment she thought about outright refusing, but she caught herself. If she and Draco were really soul mates, _destined_ to be together, there was a good chance she’d end up at the Manor sooner or later. 

Might as well be sooner, her Gryffindor side told her.

As if listening to her thought process, Draco reached out hesitantly and laid his hand on her shoulder in a stiff but comforting manner. 

‘Granger,’ he said quietly. ‘You know I’d never let anything bad happen to you in that house ever again, don’t you?’

Hermione let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. She and Draco had worked on many missions together by now, and even without the knowledge that he might possibly be her soul mate, she knew he’d never let any harm befall her.

‘Of course I do. I’ll come to the Manor,’ she agreed. ‘After work tomorrow.’ 

Draco nodded, relief evident on his face. With a swish of his fingers, the door to her office unlocked, and Padma stumbled in. Draco gave Padma a tight smile and left the room, Padma watching him go with unabashed curiosity. She turned to Hermione, a curious glint in her warm, brown eyes. 

‘We have four minutes to get down to the basement, but after this meeting, we’re going for tea, and you’re telling me exactly what you were doing with Draco Malfoy locked in your office!’

* * *

Hermione could barely concentrate on work the rest of the day. It didn’t help matters that Draco was storming about the DMLE bullpen like a blast-ended skrewt with a sore head. Towards the end of the day, Harry ducked into Hermione’s office, closing the door behind him.

‘You about ready?’ Harry asked, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. When he put them back on, he leaned on the desk as she shuffled her papers so they would be ready for the morning. ‘I mean, I’m half-tempted not to go at all. Malfoy’s being an absolute _arse_ today; you would have thought having a day just to celebrate himself would make him happy, but _no_.’

By now Harry was just ranting to himself, and Hermione smiled fondly as she stood up and picked up her bag. 

‘He even called me _scarhead_ , like we were thirteen and back at Hogwarts again.’

Hermione linked her arm through Harry’s, and together, they headed out of the room and into the bullpen. She could feel the spark of his magic reaching out to hers like static electricity and tried her best to ignore it. 

That and the guilt that bubbled up inside of her.

She couldn’t tell Harry, not yet. Not without at least speaking to Draco first and seeing where he was, emotionally, with the news. From what Harry was saying, and from the way Draco was storming about, it sounded like he wasn’t coping particularly well. 

Hermione stifled a sigh. ‘Harry, I think Malfoy is dealing with some... personal issues. Don’t take it to heart, okay? We’ll go to the pub, have a few drinks, and if Malfoy carries on being a dick, we’ll sneak off early together.’ 

Harry laughed in agreement, and together, they headed to the Leaky Cauldron. 

They weren’t the first to arrive. Draco sat nursing a Firewhisky at the same table they’d used for Hermione’s birthday all those months ago. Padma chatted happily away next to him, seemingly oblivious of the conversation’s being one-way. 

Draco looked up as Harry and Hermione entered. His gaze settled on Hermione’s arm linked with Harry’s, and his face settled into a scowl. Harry stopped halfway into raising his hand to say hello and sighed loudly. 

‘This is going to be a long night, isn’t it?’ Harry said grimly. ‘I’ll go and get us some drinks.’

As Harry made his way to the bar, Hermione braced herself and headed for the table. She’d intended to sit next to Padma, giving Draco his space, but as she approached, he kicked out the empty chair next to him, indicating to it with a small nod of his head. She sighed and dropped into it. 

‘Granger,’ he greeted her shortly. 

‘Malfoy,’ she replied coldly. Two could play this game. 

Padma watched them with unveiled interest, but at that moment, Ron arrived. He gave Hermione a quick hug, wished Draco a happy birthday, waved to Harry at the bar - making a drink gesture with his hand - and sat next to Padma. 

As Ron and Padma fell into easy conversation, Draco turned back to Hermione. 

‘I’m sorry I’ve been a bit unbearable,’ Draco started stiffly, his voice quiet, and Hermione looked at him in amazement. Whatever words she had expected to come out of his mouth, an apology hadn’t even entered her mind. Saying sorry clearly wasn’t making Draco happy either, as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘It’s just… a bit of a shock, you know? I’d never dreamed of finding soul marks, even if my—’ 

Draco broke off when Harry appeared at the table, several bottles of Butterbeer clutched in his hands. He dropped them on the table with a clatter, sliding them along to the others. 

Draco sat back in his chair, and Harry pulled the chair out on the other side of Hermione, sitting down and taking a long draft of Butterbeer. Hermione had to take a deep breath as the twin magics of Harry and Draco seemed to flow into her veins. If either of them noticed it too, they didn’t give any indication. Instead, Harry looked past her at Draco, and his gaze softened. 

‘Feeling a bit better, Malfoy?’ he asked with a spark of cheekiness in his voice. 

Draco’s face melted into a smile that tugged at Hermione’s heartstrings. A split second later he seemed to realise his mistake and forced a frown onto his face instead. Hermione bit her lip to stop from laughing, and from the grin Harry flashed her, Draco was fooling neither of them.

‘A bit better, Potter,’ Draco conceded, punctuating his sentence with a sip of Butterbeer. He pulled a face, his elegant nose wrinkling in distaste. ‘Although I’d be a lot happier if you’d gotten me a decent Firewhisky to drink instead of this rubbish.’

Harry groaned good-naturedly and lumbered to his feet, disappearing back to the bar. 

Draco threw Hermione a triumphant look. ‘He’ll be good for us once we’ve trained him up a bit, don’t you think, Granger?’ he said mildly, and Hermione almost choked on her Butterbeer.

‘Draco!’ she admonished, and he laughed to himself. ‘You can’t just say things like that,’ she hissed after gaining some composure, trying to ignore the heat that blossomed on her cheeks. ‘ _We_ haven’t even - _talked_ about things yet.’

Draco grinned again and nudged her gently with his shoulder. ‘Okay, Granger,’ he conceded. ‘I’m sorry. I won’t wind you up anymore.’

‘Well, I’ll believe that when I see it,’ she grumbled, taking another sip of Butterbeer. She felt like she was going to need something a little stronger before the night was through. 

Harry returned with a tumbler of rich, amber liquid for Draco, who accepted it with a smile. Hermione noticed that Draco let his fingertips brush against Harry’s as he took the glass from him and also that Harry lingered just a little longer than necessary before releasing the glass. She felt another wave of heat flood her body and took another hasty gulp of her drink.

The Leaky Cauldron soon started to fill with the rest of the DMLE, all clapping Draco on the back, several keeping him topped up with Firewhisky. As the table bulged with friends and colleagues, Harry banged his fist on the table and raised his Butterbeer to Draco. The rest of the table paused in their drinking and shouting and mirrored Harry’s actions, raising their own drinks.

‘To Draco Malfoy,’ Harry called out, and Hermione snuck a sideways glance at Draco. He was putting on an affectation of being bored, but Hermione could see the faint pink blush on the tops of his cheekbones. Harry continued. ‘An excellent Auror, an average Quidditch player’—here, Draco flashed Harry a dark look—‘and most of all, a bloody good mate.’

The rest of the table broke into cheers at Harry’s toast, raising their drinks towards Draco and clinking glasses with their neighbours before drinking. Harry leaned over Hermione to clink his Butterbeer against Draco’s Firewhisky, brushing against Hermione’s arm when he pulled away. Hermione raised her drink as well, meeting Draco’s eyes when their glasses connected.

‘Happy birthday, Draco,’ she said quietly, and he smiled and moved closer so he could speak softly in her ear. 

‘It certainly is, Granger,’ he agreed, pulling away and turning as Ron and Padma wished him a happy birthday. 

Hermione just watched him with interest, wondering - _hoping_ \- that maybe she was part of the reason for Draco feeling happy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘What are we going to do, Granger?’ Draco breathed against her hair, one hand gently stroking her back.
> 
> ‘I don’t know,’ she said quietly, feeling a tightening band of frustration build around her heart. ‘Do you think we should tell Harry?’

Hermione didn’t often talk to herself. 

She prided herself on her logical mind, after all. But right now, talking to herself was the only way she’d get the encouragement she so desperately needed. 

She was standing in front of her fireplace, a handful of Floo powder in her hands. Draco would be waiting for her on the other end of the Floo network.

’Come on, Hermione,’ she chided herself angrily.

She could do this. 

She could ignore the sick weight in her stomach, the uncomfortable increase in her heart rate. The soul marks on her ribs seemed to be itching, desperate for some kind of relief. 

She _could_ go back to Malfoy Manor.

Before she could change her mind, Hermione stepped into the fireplace and threw the handful of Floo powder down, shouting out ‘Malfoy Manor!’ as she did. In a flash of emerald green flames, the comforting familiarity of her own flat, and Crookshanks’ squashed, orange face watching her, disappeared.

Hermione stumbled as she landed at the other end, and a pair of strong, supportive hands caught her and steadied her. 

‘Easy, Granger.’ A low voice spoke to her as if soothing a nervous hippogriff, and Hermione looked up into Draco’s silver eyes. He’d been waiting by the Floo for her, ready to catch her. She allowed herself a brief moment of comfort in his arms before stepping back.

‘Thanks,’ she said in, what she hoped was, a relaxed voice. 

Draco waved vaguely to the space behind him. ‘I thought maybe you’d like to talk somewhere… safe,’ he finished quietly. 

Hermione forced herself to stay focused on Draco’s gaze. She was scared if she let her eyes wander, she’d see something she’d remember from before. She nodded tightly.

‘Safe sounds good to me,’ she replied. 

‘We can go to my bedroom? It’s probably the least formal place in the Manor,’ Draco added with a resigned smile. 

Hermione nodded again, eager to be away from the towering ceilings and the marble floors and the echoing silence in which, if she let herself listen closely enough, she could almost hear the faint shrieks of laughter from Bellatrix Lestrange. 

A door hinge creaked somewhere to her left, and a quiet footfall echoed on the marble floor. Already on edge and tense, Hermione physically jumped, her wand hand twitching, as a shadowy figure appeared in the corner of her eye. 

Draco’s hand was on her forearm in an instant, calming and grounding her. 

‘You’re safe, Granger,’ he reassured her, and she took a deep breath and let it out shakily, nodding silently in response. 

She looked up just as Narcissa Malfoy came into view.

Draco’s hand dropped from Hermione’s arm, and he moved forward to take Narcissa’s hands in his.

‘Mother,’ he said, his voice as tender as Hermione had ever heard it. ‘Are you all right?’ 

Narcissa smiled weakly as she looked up at her son, and Hermione was again struck by how old and frail she seemed.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt, Draco,’ Narcissa murmured, her eyes sliding from Draco’s to Hermione’s. She still retained that flash of intelligence, even if her physical body had withered. ‘I just need the warming charm in my rooms replenished.’

A louder footstep echoed down the same corridor Narcissa had appeared from, and a second later, Theo Nott - _no_ , Theo Malfoy-Nott now, Hermione corrected herself - joined them. 

He gave Draco an understanding smile. ‘Come on, Narcissa,’ Theo said kindly, taking his adopted mother’s arm and linking it through his. ‘I’ll help you get your rooms how you like them.’ 

Narcissa leaned into Theo’s side, and he gave Hermione a look of intrigue, arching his eyebrow at her in a questioning way.

‘Granger,’ he drawled in greeting before giving Draco a short nod and slowly guiding Narcissa back to her own wing. 

Draco didn’t say anything about what had transpired, instead waving towards the staircase with a vague motion that suggested they should head to his room.

Draco walked beside her, his hand hovering over her lower back to guide her the grand staircase. He led them up the stairs, along the corridor to the left, and eventually they reached a door that Draco pushed open. 

It was only as Hermione walked into the room that she realised the hallway had been strangely empty and quiet and that the walls were free from the muttering Malfoy family portraits that decorated every other corridor she had seen in the Manor.

Draco followed closely behind her. When she looked up, Hermione stopped in shock, causing Draco to utter a quiet huff of surprise as he bumped into her back. 

Draco’s bedroom was nothing like she expected. Fine, an enormous mahogany four-poster bed with emerald green sheets and hangings dominated one side of the room, just as grand as she expected. And sure, a giant fireplace with two green leather armchairs in front of it stood ready for company. However, every assumption Hermione may have made about Draco’s living quarters ended there. 

Draco’s room was in direct opposition to the cold, unfriendly air of the Manor. His room was warm; lived in. 

Hermione noticed hundreds of dog-eared books on the shelves, and itched to walk over to them. She wanted to trace her fingers over the spines and see what titles Draco held dear enough to keep here, in his bedroom, instead of in the infamous Manor library. There were also a few stacks of books balanced on his bedside table and another next to one of the armchairs: not unlike Hermione’s own flat, she realised with a small smile. She suppressed a shudder when she spotted a broomstick still caked with dried mud propped against the fireplace. A handsome, glossy eagle owl slept on a perch in front of an open window, but what caught Hermione’s attention the most - apart from the books, of course - were the photographs.

There were so many of them. 

Wizarding photographs, in silver frames, covered almost every spare surface she could see. 

One of Draco and Theo, clearly taken after the war, both with tired eyes but wide smiles and their arms around each other. 

One of Draco and Pansy at the Yule Ball, taken in the Slytherin common room by the look of the strange, green glow, a candid picture with Pansy reaching out to ruffle Draco’s perfectly-coiffed hair over and over again as he pulled back with an annoyed but affectionate grimace. 

One of Draco as a tiny toddler on a tiny broomstick, his father smiling as he kept a careful hand on the broom handle behind him. 

One of Narcissa Malfoy repeatedly hugging a first year Draco in his brand new Hogwarts uniform on Platform 9 3/4. 

One of Draco and Harry nudging each other and laughing, looking dashing in their dark blue Auror robes. 

One of Draco, Blaise and Theo laughing and drinking Firewhisky in the Leaky Cauldron. 

One of Draco with Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, taken sometime around fourth year, in what looked like the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade, snow gently falling through the window outside. 

And in one of the photographs, in the middle of the mantelpiece, Hermione saw her own face smiling back at her. It was a picture she remembered Ginny taking on Christmas Day at the Burrow. 

Hermione stood between Harry and Draco in the kitchen, as all three looked out to the camera and smiled. Harry’s green eyes were sparkling with happiness, and a small, sweet smile curled on Draco’s lips. Both boys moved closer to her and placed their arms around her, Harry bating down Hermione’s furious curls with a laugh as they threatened to suffocate him. Draco threw him a smirk across Hermione’s head, saying something that made her and Harry laugh. 

She realised she had fallen still and silent looking at the picture of the three of them, and Draco moved towards it and picked up the silver frame, handing it to her. 

‘I wondered what was going on that day,’ he started, as Hermione took the picture from him. His fingers brushed hers as they did, and she felt the spark dance from his skin to hers. ‘I mean, I always knew there was something between us, but Christmas Day? I could barely think straight with the magic I could feel, radiating from you and Harry both.’

‘I didn’t know if you could both feel it too, or if it was just because I—’ Hermione’s voice faltered as she thought how to say her next words, but Draco saved her.

‘Because you knew, then, about the soul marks?’ Draco said, taking the picture back from her and placing it on the mantelpiece again. 

Draco gestured towards the armchairs, and Hermione sat down in the one without the stack of books alongside it. Draco dropped into the other one, and with a wave of his wand, a tea service appeared in front of them, a steaming pot of tea ready to be poured. As he prepared tea for both of them, Hermione sighed. 

‘Yes, because I knew. Look, Draco, you have no idea how hard it’s been. I wanted to tell you, to tell both of you, but it didn’t feel right.’ 

Draco passed her a tea cup, and she took a sip and realised it was perfectly prepared the way she liked it. Draco drank his own tea silently, waiting for her to carry on speaking. 

‘Finding these marks on my own, recognising what they were and who they referred to? It was a shock, of course it was, but if it had been you or Harry first, and you came to me? I wouldn’t have believed you. Not until I saw them on my own skin. I decided I’d rather wait and pretend nothing had changed than tell both of you and things be awkward between all of us for months on end.’ Draco scowled, but with no malice in his expression. 

Hermione looked at him with interest. ‘Did you know what they were? As soon as you saw them, I mean?’

Draco sighed and sat back into his chair, eyes staring blankly at the empty fire. He ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath and looked over at her. 

‘Yes.’ His right hand gently grazed the sleeve of his shirt as he spoke, absentmindedly stroking the patch of skin where his soul marks lay. ‘Most Purebloods grow up knowing about soul marks,’ he explained. ‘Most of the old families have a soul marked couple somewhere in their family tree. That’s not to say it’s common, but it’s something we’re aware of.’ 

Hermione took another sip of her tea. ‘And you have someone in your family tree?’ she asked absent-mindedly. Draco’s gaze sharpened, and he didn’t say anything. Hermione watched him closely, and it only took a couple of seconds for all the pieces to fall into place.

A wife who would follow her husband down even the darkest of paths. A husband who would do anything to protect his wife. A wife who had aged more than the years themselves since becoming a widow. 

Draco’s expression was still guarded, but Hermione leaned over and gently took his hand in hers. She felt the static shock of their magic reach out for each other. For once, Hermione didn’t pull away.

‘Your parents?’ she asked quietly, and Draco nodded slowly. ‘Draco,’ Hermione continued, wondering if she was pushing too far. She thought of Draco’s namesake tattooed across her skin and carried on regardless. ‘What happened? To your mother, I mean? She looks… so much older.’ 

‘My father’s sentence affected her more than any of us expected,’ Draco said stiffly. He tried to pull his hand away, but Hermione held on tight. He sighed and relented. ‘When soul mates accept their bond, their magic intertwines. They become stronger, more powerful, in both their magic reserves and their ability to harness magic.’

Hermione was silent as Draco spoke, letting those words sink in. 

If that were true, what would it mean when three soul mates bonded? Hermione, Harry and Draco were all fairly accomplished magic-users in their own right; how much stronger would they be - would Hermione be - with the magic from their soul mates swirling in their veins? 

Draco’s expression was dark, however, and Hermione waited patiently for him to carry on. As if sensing she wasn’t going to let herself be distracted, he sighed and carried on. 

‘The reverse happens when a soul mate dies,’ Draco said now, and Hermione could hear a tiny but unmistakable tremor in his voice. ‘Most soul mates find their magic weakens when they are widowed. My mother lost hers completely. We had someone at the DoM look into it actually, and they speculated it was because Father was given the Dementor’s Kiss, rather than a physical death. And then… well.’ He paused and gave Hermione a small, sad smile. ‘You saw her at Christmas. The Healers at St Mungo’s can’t do anything to help her. They don’t think she’ll have many years left.’ 

Draco’s eyes glittered in the light, and Hermione fought the urge to hug him. ‘Oh, Draco,’ she said, feeling useless. 

She felt a pulse of sadness where his magic met hers and decided she’d had enough of trying to act sensible. She dropped Draco’s hand and rather inelegantly leapt across the space between them to wrap her arms around him. He stiffened in surprise but then put his own arms around her, holding her close to him. She breathed in deeply, relishing the warm, rich scent of him, and sighed happily as her magic seemed to swell with the physical contact with him.

‘What are we going to do, Granger?’ Draco breathed against her hair, one hand gently stroking her back.

‘I don’t know,’ she said quietly, feeling a tightening band of frustration build around her heart. ‘Do you think we should tell Harry?’ 

Reluctantly, Hermione pulled away from Draco, sitting back on her heels before him. His fingers trailed along her cheek and curled around her jaw, and he watched her with a deep, focused intensity to his silver eyes. Finally he shook his head.

‘I think you were right,’ he said quietly. ‘Potter won’t know anything about soul marks. He won’t take it well if we try to explain this before his birthday.’

‘So we’ll wait,’ she said, sounding more certain than she felt. ‘Harry’s birthday is the last day of July. That’s seven weeks.’

‘Seven weeks,’ echoed Draco, sounding as distressed as if she’d said seven _years_ instead. His eyes drifted down to her mouth, his thumb following his eyes to brush against her lip. 

‘We can’t do anything,’ Hermione murmured, resisting the urge to move her head and kiss his palm. ‘No more stolen kisses. Nothing until Harry knows too.’ 

The look Draco gave her was full of promise and lust. 

‘Until the end of July, Granger,’ he agreed, his signature smirk firmly back in place.

* * *

Seven weeks. 

In normal circumstances, seven weeks didn’t sound very long. Hermione had already waited nine long months suffering in silence until this point, what was seven more weeks? And at least now she had someone to talk to when things got really tough, right?

Seven weeks was the longest time period Hermione had ever lived through. 

It was as if Draco’s getting his soul marks amplified the power of her own. Two sides of the triangle were in place, and both Draco and Hermione’s magic seemed desperate to close the final edge. Hermione had lost count of the number of times she’d caught herself lingering over a hug with Harry, or found herself breathing in the delicious, comforting scent of him when they were in a room together. Every time he fixed her with his beautiful, green eyes, Hermione was speechless, hypnotised by his very being.

Work was an absolute nightmare.

When she wasn’t trying to avoid being alone with Harry, she was busy trying to avoid being alone with Draco. 

More than once a day, she’d catch him gazing at her from across the bullpen, his silver eyes fixed on her. His slow, sexy smile from the other side of a meeting room was enough to make her insides melt and her legs stop working. She’d ended up asking Harry to be removed from field duties, claiming a case of Black Cat Flu, just to avoid spending prolonged amounts of time with either of them.

Seven weeks could not fly by fast enough. 

By the third week of June, Hermione found herself hiding away in the Ministry archives, deep down in the basement. It was blessedly empty, being so hot and dark down there that everyone else avoided it in the summer heatwave they were having. Hermione had been quick to volunteer for the menial task of carrying out some research on a Squib trafficking case the Aurors suspected of having roots in a previous case.

Hermione blew a stray curl out of her eyes and refreshed her cooling charm, pulling down the next box of files she needed and sitting cross-legged on the floor so she could read the folders she pulled out. A quick-quotes quill was levitating in the air next to her, ready to take down any relevant information she could find. 

She was deep in her research when she heard the quiet footfall behind her. 

Her nerves had never quite recovered from the war, and she was on her feet, her wand brandished at her would-be attacker, before her conscious brain even caught up with what was happening. 

Draco stood before her, hands raised warily in surrender.

‘Sorry, Granger,’ he said cautiously, as she lowered her wand and took a deep breath to try to control her pounding heart. ‘Potter sent me to find you,’ he added carefully, as if she might still curse him for intruding on her space.

‘I’m going as fast as I can,’ Hermione grumbled, trying not to scowl as Draco lowered his hands completely. Didn’t he realise she was locking herself away to keep from jumping him? He took a step closer, engulfing her with his scent. 

For a brief moment, Hermione held her breath as she both panicked and hoped he might gather her in his arms and kiss her like it was Christmas Day all over again. Instead, Draco frowned and ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair. 

‘No, it’s not that - there’s a new case, Granger. A bad one. Potter needs us.’


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Hermione, will you please go on location for this one?’ Harry’s green eyes were serious, and Hermione knew she’d do anything for him in that moment. ‘I need a dark magicologist on the case.’
> 
> ‘Of course, Harry,’ she said quietly, letting her hand reach out to lie gently on his arm. He gave her a quick, grateful smile before turning to Draco, standing towards the back of the other Aurors, arms crossed over his chest.
> 
> ‘Malfoy,’ Harry called, beckoning him forward. Draco gave Harry a quick look of surprise before moving through the crowd of Aurors, coming to stand next to Hermione.
> 
> ‘Potter?’ 
> 
> ‘I want you on this case with Hermione,’ Harry said, absent-mindedly leafing through the stack of parchment on his desk.

_This can’t be good_ , Hermione thought to herself as she followed Draco out of the darkened archives in the bowels of the Ministry, both of them hurrying to get back to Harry. 

Harry, when she reached the Auror bullpen once again, was looking more dishevelled than ever. His hair was ruffled, his white shirt rumpled. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, tanned forearms on show, a leather tie wrapped around one wrist. He still wore his holster over his shoulders, his wand sheathed in place. His green eyes lit up when Draco and Hermione walked in.

‘Thanks for finding her, Malfoy. Hermione, we’ve had a new case come in. A series of murders up in Lancashire.’

Harry looked pained, and Hermione hurried to his side, Draco following closely behind. Whereas Harry and Hermione both exuded chaotic energy, Draco was like a grounding presence, an anchor as they bobbed on the waves of panic and uncertainty.

‘It’s all right, Potter,’ Draco said, his voice low and calming. ‘Just tell us the facts.’

Harry led them over to a wall covered in photos and scribbled notes, and Ron, Seamus, Padma and Angelina soon joined them. Four bodies had been found overnight in and around Lancaster, all with definite traces of dark magic on them. Local Aurors had gotten in touch with the DMLE immediately for support, unable to contain the dark magic themselves. 

An hour of frantic discussion, raised voices and Hermione’s hair getting bigger and bigger later, Harry finally turned to Hermione in despair.

‘Hermione, will you please go on location for this one?’ Harry’s green eyes were serious, and Hermione knew she’d do anything for him in that moment. ‘I need a dark magicologist on the case.’

‘Of course, Harry,’ she said quietly, letting her hand reach out to lie gently on his arm. He gave her a quick, grateful smile before turning to Draco, standing towards the back of the other Aurors, arms crossed over his chest.

‘Malfoy,’ Harry called, beckoning him forward. Draco gave Harry a quick look of surprise before moving through the crowd of Aurors, coming to stand next to Hermione.

‘Potter?’ 

‘I want you on this case with Hermione,’ Harry said, absent-mindedly leafing through the stack of parchment on his desk. Hermione’s heart jumped into her throat with the power of a chocolate frog on its first leap.

‘Me?’ Draco didn’t bother hiding his surprise. The other Aurors had already started to disperse, muttering amongst themselves. ‘Potter, wouldn’t you rather have—’

‘I want you, Malfoy. I need someone I can trust on this mission.’ Harry finally looked up, his green eyes fixing Draco in place. Hermione spotted the look on Draco’s face the split second before he Occluded again: relief, and thankfulness. 

She knew Draco had always struggled in the DMLE, to be accepted, to be trusted. She could see how much Harry’s faith meant to him, and she wished in that moment she was able to touch Draco, to reassure him, as easily and freely as she could Harry. 

Instead, she let her magic reach out for his, finding it with no difficulty among the other strands in the room. Both Harry and Draco’s magical signatures glowed like alpha stars in the firmament, Harry’s a pulsing, passionate red and Draco’s a cool, shimmering silver. She let her magic reach out and gently caress Draco’s and saw his physical body shiver in response. He glanced sideways at her, and his magic pulsed against hers, as if stroking back against it. 

Harry was focused back on his parchments. ‘Creevey will give you the details you need. He’ll sort out logistics for you.’ With that, Harry wandered away, leaving Hermione and Draco standing together. 

They watched each other warily, and Hermione’s mind raced with a thousand things she could say, a hundred excuses she could make for the mission. The photos of the murder victims flashed through her mind before she could utter any of them, and she knew working together to capture the murderer was more important than avoiding Draco.

‘Come on then,’ Hermione said, turning to head towards Dennis’s desk before throwing a smile back at Draco. ‘Partner.’ 

* * *

The mission was a tough one. For all of Harry’s talk about wanting people he could trust on the case, it soon became clear the reason Draco was the best choice to send with Hermione was the elements of dark magic in the murders. Hermione’s specialism in the DoM was dark magic artifacts, and with Draco’s experience in the war as a Death Eater they were probably the foremost experts on dark magic in all the DMLE.

Not that theoretical or practical expertise made dealing with dark magic residue any easier. The last crime scene they worked at was particularly draining, the tendrils of magic crawling in through Hermione’s skin where it felt like it tried to eat her from the inside out. One look at Draco’s pale face and heavily Occluded eyes let Hermione know she wasn’t the only one struggling. 

‘Come on,’ she said as they turned away and left the local Aurors to tidy up the scene. She reached out and took Draco’s hand in hers before she could think too hard about it. He looked at her in surprise but didn’t pull his own hand away. ‘Let’s get back to the safehouse Dennis arranged for us. We need to… decontaminate ourselves.’

Draco let Hermione lead him away without even a sneer in Hermione’s direction. 

* * *

The safehouse Dennis Creevey had arranged for them in a tiny Muggle village in the Lancashire countryside was pleasant enough. A neat little cottage with two bedrooms, a rose garden and an open, sprawling kitchen greeted them.

As soon as they walked inside, Hermione felt the stickiness from the dark magic start to dissipate. She handed Draco an entire bar of Honeyduke’s chocolate, keeping one for herself. They sat at the kitchen table, each nursing a cup of tea, as they ate their chocolate. 

Afterwards they took turns showering and ate a quick supper, but Hermione could still feel a lingering remnant of the dark magic clinging to her. From the frown that never disappeared between Draco’s eyes, she guessed he was feeling just as bad. They soon went to bed, exhausted from the energies of the crime scenes.

Later in the evening, Hermione tossed in her bed, frustrated and unable to sleep. She never slept well away from home, one of the reasons she seldom went into the field. That wasn’t the sole reason she couldn’t sleep this evening, though. 

It was because of Draco. 

Hermione could feel the nascent bond between them, could feel his magic calling out to hers. She could always sense his magic now, but there was something else to it tonight. Hermione couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It wasn’t quite distress. Desperation? Frustration? 

Hermione sighed and swung her legs around, pushing herself off the mattress. Either way, she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep until she checked that he was okay. Quietly opening the door to her bedroom, she padded across the hallway to Draco’s closed door. Knocking lightly, she hesitated outside.

‘Draco?’ she called softly and heard a moan from the other side. His magic pulsed again, and she could feel the desperation this time, like a physical blow to the chest. Not giving herself time to think, Hermione pushed open the door.

 _Merlin_. Whatever she had expected to find, it wasn’t _this_. 

Draco was sprawled on his back on the mattress, completely naked, the sight of his long limbs and muscled torso rendering Hermione speechless. Her eyes followed his arm down to his hand, which was currently wrapped tightly around his cock. 

Draco looked up at her, his eyes half-closed and darkened with lust. He made no attempt to cover up or stop touching himself, and Hermione felt like she was glued in place on the floor, unable to utter even a squeak of alarm. 

‘Hermione,’ Draco groaned, his voice low and gravelly and full of longing. She felt the rush of his magic to meet hers and gasped at the intensity of it. She felt it race through her veins and settle in her core, Draco’s desire stoking the fire of her own. For another moment she stood with her hand still on the door handle, frozen and unsure. Draco’s eyes fluttered closed as he stroked himself, and when they opened again and locked onto hers, he spoke two words that cemented her fate. ‘Come here.’ 

Hermione found herself moving almost as if Draco had cast a spell over her. She reached his bedside, and he released himself, reaching out to pull her down into his arms. 

His mouth found hers, hot and eager, and Hermione opened to him. Her hands ran hungrily over his chest, stroking alabaster skin and silver scar tissue alike. His hands trailed down her back before anchoring at her waist, holding her in place as he rolled them both over, so Hermione was on her back beneath him. She felt his dick press against her, spanning almost half of her thigh, and found herself arching up into him, even as her mind screamed at her to slow down. Draco pulled apart the old shirt of Harry’s she was sleeping in, dipping his head to kiss her breast and suck a nipple into his mouth. Hermione groaned and tangled her hands in his hair.

‘Draco, wait,’ she gasped, even as she opened her thighs so he could settle between them. His cock pressed against the black, silk knickers covering her core. ‘We said we’d wait - wait for Harry.’ 

And as much as being with Draco felt right, like a flood gate that she’d been damming up for so long had been opened, there was still something wrong. Like a missing step. A lost jigsaw piece. Harry’s magic, missing from the entanglement of theirs. 

Draco groaned and licked her nipple before kissing his way back up, until his lips brushed her ear. ‘We did say that,’ he agreed, the huskiness in his voice sending a thrill down her body. ‘But Hermione… I _ache_ for both of you. Every minute, every day. I know you feel it too.’ His hands ran down her body, one of them brushing against her cunt, already damp and desperate for him. Her hips flexed again, her body wanting him despite her mind telling her to wait. ‘We’re here, _now_ , and my magic calls for _you_ , Hermione.’ 

He slipped a finger beneath the silk and gently brushed it against her sex, her hands tightening their grip in his hair. ‘Just once,’ he purred, his finger sliding inside her, her eyes closing. 

_Just once_. One time, to dampen some of the desire that curled from her heart to her core. Draco’s thumb pressed against her clit, and Hermione cursed under her breath as she quivered at his touch. 

‘Just once,’ she agreed breathlessly, and Draco kissed her again, capturing her moans as he slid another finger inside her. Only a few minutes later, Draco pulled his fingers away and unceremoniously tore her knickers down before spreading her legs and licking her cunt with a long, languorous stroke. Hermione cursed under her breath as she saw stars at the feel of his tongue on her. 

‘Merlin, Draco,’ she moaned, not even pausing to blush as she opened her legs further for him. Draco’s tongue dipped inside her, licking at her slowly, one hand curling around her arse as the other reached up to stroke the soul marks on her ribs. Hermione whimpered and let her head fall back against the pillow. Her eyes closed as Draco’s tongue found her clit, and she surrendered herself to the pleasure he seemed determined to give her. 

Between the physical touch of him, his hands and tongue and body pressed against hers, and the ethereal touch of his magic on hers, Hermione could feel herself crest the wave of an orgasm. It broke upon her like waves on the shore, with a crash and a flood and a sweet feeling of surrender and relief. 

‘Fuck, you taste so good.’ Draco was watching her with an intense look in his eyes. His lips gleamed with the evidence of her orgasm, and Hermione grabbed hold of his hair, pulling him up her body so she could kiss the taste of herself off him. He sighed when she pulled away. ‘You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you, Granger.’ 

Hermione felt herself frown even as her body still sang for him. ‘What are you talking about?’ she said. ‘It’s only been a few weeks since your birthday.’

Draco smiled sadly at her, brushing back a curl that had escaped. ‘I’ve wanted you since you walked down those steps at the Yule Ball in fourth year.’ Hermione could only blink in shock, and Draco laughed and kissed her temple softly. ‘It’s just since my birthday I’ve been fairly sure you felt the same way.’

‘Oh, Draco…’ she breathed, her heart torn. Had they really missed out on so many chances to be together before now? As if reading her mind, Draco leaned in to kiss her again. She felt his magic flow over hers in a comforting manner, like he was stroking her hair or rubbing her back. Breaking away from her lips, Draco grasped her by the waist and rolled them both so he was lying on his back and Hermione was straddling him. 

She cast a wandless contraceptive charm over herself, and it took only a shift of her hips against his to take him deep inside her, relishing the hiss of pleasure Draco gave as his dick filled her completely. Hermione dug her fingers into his shoulders, using his body to rock and grind herself on top of him. Draco’s eyes darkened with lust and locked onto hers as she moved, but she didn’t feel self-conscious despite being completely exposed to him. Instead, she felt like Fiendfyre rushed through her veins, from her head to her cunt, engulfing her. 

There was only one thing missing. 

‘Gods, Draco,’ she moaned as she moved against him. ‘You feel so good. This feels so good. If only—’

‘Potter was here.’ Draco finished her sentence for her, his hands wrapping around her waist to hold her in place. ‘I know, Granger, I know. Not long now.’

It was imagining Harry there with them that pushed Hermione to the brink once more. As Draco groaned and his hips thrust upwards, burying himself in her and gripping her thighs, Hermione let herself fall with him, her eyes closed and her mind full of green and silver eyes.

She was still shaking and speechless after Draco emptied himself with a cry into her. He pulled her down and cradled her against his chest. Utterly spent and exhausted, Hermione fell asleep in Draco’s arms. 

* * *

The next morning dawned bright and cheery, and Hermione felt a moment of confusion as she reached consciousness. She could feel a flow of familiar, comforting magic around her but was also acutely aware of there being a part of her soul missing.

 _Harry_.

Hermione’s eyes flew open to see Draco watching her in confusion. He found words before she did.

‘Gods, Granger. Last night. What happened - I’m so sorry - did I force you—’

Hermione silenced his ramblings with a long, slow kiss. ‘It’s okay, Draco. I wanted it too,’ she reassured him. He looked marginally appeased, but a small frown still marred his forehead. 

‘We said we’d wait for him. We agreed. But last night—’

‘I don’t think we were fully in control, Draco,’ Hermione said carefully. The last thing she wanted was to alarm him. He gave her a quizzical look, and she sighed and continued. ‘Dark magic leaves traces. You know this,’ she added unnecessarily as Draco winced. Hermione shifted herself so she could cradle him against herself, his head resting against her collarbone. ‘Those traces are really hard to remove. Sometimes - if you’ve used the dark magic yourself, intentionally and of free will - they can’t be removed. It’s probably why your Aunt was the way she was,’ she added, tightening her hold on Draco. He kissed her neck lightly, as if to anchor her to him. ‘But if you’re exposed to dark magic, there are some things that help. Like the chocolate.’ 

Draco nodded. Hermione knew she was telling him things he already knew. ‘But in all of my research on dark magic residue, there is one thing that is constantly known to be capable of minimising, if not eradicating, the traces completely…’ 

Draco stayed silent as he waited for her to continue, and Hermione took a deep breath to will herself to say the word on the tip of her tongue. 

‘Love, Draco,’ she said, simply. He stilled in her arms, as if a unicorn preparing to flee. She stroked a hand over his shoulder, along his arm, and wrapped her fingers around the soul marks on his forearm. ‘It might be too soon to say the word, but our bond knows. And last night, after being exposed to the dark magic left behind from those murders, I think our magics reached out for each other for survival. Anything to erase that taint on our magic, in our magical cores.’

Draco nodded, his own fingers tracing the stars and scar on her own skin. 

‘But now we’ve let the bond form…’ he started, shrewd as ever. 

Hermione finished for him. ‘It’s going to be hard - impossible, almost - to stay away from each other,’ she whispered, and he lifted his head so his unguarded silver eyes met hers. He gave her a sad, rueful, smile, before cradling her jaw in his hand and kissing her again.

 _Just one more month_ , Hermione thought to herself as she shifted beneath Draco, opening her thighs for him, and he nuzzled her neck and stroked her entrance before sliding himself deep into her once more. One more month before they would be complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for the kudos and comments! I'm really glad you're enjoying this fic 💖 I'm sorry I don't always get chance to respond to comments, but I read and adore every single one 💖💖
> 
> Huge thanks as always to [Grace Lou Freebush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grace_lou_freebush/pseuds/grace_lou_freebush) for betaing this fic 😘


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione sighed and looked up again, jumping when she found Draco standing right in front of her desk, her office door closed behind him. She’d been so distracted she hadn’t even heard him approach. 
> 
> ‘Granger,’ Draco said cautiously, as if he were still not convinced she wouldn’t hex him on sight, even after sleeping with each other. ‘How are you?’
> 
> ‘How am I?’ she repeated stupidly. What, were they going to talk about the weather next? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay in getting this chapter out! Hope you all enjoy and thank you so much for all the comments and kudos so far 💖💖
> 
> Huge thanks as always to [Grace Lou Freebush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grace_lou_freebush/pseuds/grace_lou_freebush) for your beta help 💖

In the days following the Lancaster case, Hermione went back into hiding from both Draco and Harry. No one seemed to question her elusiveness anymore, and Padma and most of the Aurors knew to find Hermione squirrelled away in the archives or working down in the DoM where she explained - truthfully - that she found it easier to focus. 

In the middle of the next week, Hermione was finally forced to return to her office in the DMLE to complete some paperwork. As she sat at her desk, quill in hand, Hermione caught herself staring across the bullpen at Draco more than once. 

As she pulled her eyes away from him for what felt like the fiftieth time, she found Harry watching her in turn, a small frown furrowing his forehead. Hermione dropped her eyes guiltily, focusing on the already-late report she was supposed to be finishing up from the Lancaster murder scenes. Her own scrawled handwriting stared back up at her, reproachful and unfinished on the long parchment. She sighed and looked up again, jumping when she found Draco standing right in front of her desk, her office door closed behind him. She’d been so distracted she hadn’t even heard him approach. 

‘Granger,’ Draco said cautiously, as if he were still not convinced she wouldn’t hex him on sight, even after sleeping with each other. ‘How are you?’

‘How am I?’ she repeated stupidly. What, were they going to talk about the weather next? 

Draco shifted his weight uncomfortably. ‘After everything that’s happened…’ he started, lowering his voice to a whisper even though no-one could hear through her door. ‘We were supposed to be waiting, and now I can’t just kiss you when I want… It feels like part of me is missing.’

 _Oh_. Hermione’s heart ached in her chest, and she groaned out loud. 

Three weeks. They just had to last three more weeks.

‘Draco, we have to resist this. Harry will be so betrayed when he finds out otherwise.’

Draco planted both hands on her desk, leaning forward so his face was only inches away from hers. 

‘Nothing has ever been harder to resist than you in my entire life, Granger,’ Draco growled, but then he hesitated and threw a glance over his shoulder. ‘Well. Almost nothing.’

‘We have to resist. For him.’

Draco sighed and straightened. ‘You’re right, Granger. You’re always right.’ He turned to go, then looked back at her over his shoulder. 

‘Finnigan is insisting on drinks at the Leaky Cauldron this evening to watch the Ireland game,’ he said casually, and Hermione managed not to scoff at the ongoing obsession all the Aurors seemed to have with Quidditch. ‘You’ll come, won’t you?’ 

Hermione allowed herself a roll of her eyes, but she gave a begrudging nod. She wasn’t going to miss out on a fun evening with her friends just to avoid Draco and Harry. Draco gave her one last smile and left her office.

The end of the day rolled around far too slowly, and by the time she’d packed up her things and left her office, most of the bullpen was already empty. Dennis Creevey was still at his desk, diligent secretary that he was, and he looked up in surprise as she approached. 

‘Have Harry and Draco already left, do you know?’ Hermione asked, and Dennis shook his head as he signed an expense form with a flourish. 

‘Not yet, I think they’re still in the briefing room. I said I’d stay to lock up and then come along after.’

Hermione nodded absent-mindedly and looked over to the briefing room. The door was closed and the blinds down. 

‘I’ll go and round them up, then we can all head over to the Leaky Cauldron together,’ she said to Dennis, dropping her bag next to his desk, taking long strides to the room and throwing open the door.

‘Harry, Draco, are you read—’ Hermione came to a halt as she walked in the room, a little _oh_ of surprise escaping her. 

Draco hovered in front of Harry, pressing him back against the wall. Draco braced one forearm against the wall next to Harry’s head, his body caging him in, and his other hand was frozen in mid-air, mere inches from Harry’s cheek. Harry’s green eyes wide and guilty.

It was very clear to Hermione that a minute later she would have been interrupting a kiss.

Draco slowly turned around, catching Hermione’s eye, and his hand dropped as he took a step back.

‘Granger,’ he greeted her, utterly guileless in his demeanour. 

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, but he gave her an innocent shrug as Harry pushed away from the wall.

‘Hermione, it isn’t - it’s not what it looks like,’ Harry protested hastily, his cheeks flushed red. 

Draco’s smirk suggested otherwise. 

Hermione hurried to interrupt him. ‘It’s okay, Harry, I don’t need to know! Just - are you both ready? We need to get a move on.’

Harry, still flushed with embarrassment, nodded and rushed from the room. Hermione crossed her arms and gave Draco a stern look. He sauntered up to her slowly, utterly unrepentant. 

‘We agreed to wait,’ Hermione said, hating how whiny her voice sounded. She tried to relax the frown she could feel wrinkling her face, but Draco leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

‘I know, Granger, I know. I’m sorry, okay? I just - he was here; his magic was practically _singing_ to me; I just couldn’t stop myself…’ Draco cursed under his breath and broke away from her, running his hand through his hair with a despairing look on his face. Hermione sighed and moved to give him a hug, and he responded by pulling her close to him and dropping a kiss on her curls. ‘I’ll behave, I promise.’

Draco’s idea of behaving and Hermione’s were very different. He flirted shamelessly with both Hermione and Harry all night, although Hermione was sure Harry didn’t realise it was flirting. Draco teased him mercilessly, and continuously reached over him for drinks and crisps and any excuse he could find to brush against Harry to lean over and talk to Hermione. With Hermione he was more subtle, with lingering glances and trailing fingertips and a suggestive eyebrow raise at the opportune moment. 

Hermione barely paid attention to the Quidditch game magically projected on the wall of the pub, focusing instead on her Butterbeer and definitely not on how Harry’s thigh brushed against hers when he shifted in his seat to get a closer look at the match.

Harry moved again, his leg dragging against hers, and she took a hasty gulp of Butterbeer, trying to calm the heat she felt rush to her face. When she looked up, she saw Draco watching her with that annoying little smirk on his face. She scowled at him across Harry’s oblivious head, and he winked brazenly at her in response. 

When the evening drew to an end, Harry tried to convince Draco and Hermione back to Grimmauld Place with him and Ron to carry on the party. Draco looked tempted, but Hermione threw him a warning look. 

‘We really shouldn’t, Harry,’ Hermione said sharply. ‘It is a Wednesday night.’ 

Ron gave her a teasing smile, and when Draco echoed Hermione’s protests, with markedly less enthusiasm, Ron and Harry stumbled off together. 

Hermione felt her magic twinge unhappily as Harry moved away from her, and Draco was at her shoulder straight away. He barely touched her physically, but his very presence and the soothing calm of his magic soothed her. They walked out of the Leaky Cauldron into the balmy, summer night together, the other Aurors already gone. 

Hermione drew her wand, but Draco’s hand on her wrist stopped her.

‘Are you safe to Apparate home, Granger?’ he asked in concern. 

Hermione did her best to ignore the heat of his fingertips on her skin. Her eyes drifted down to his forearm, where even in the humid heat of London in July he was still wearing a long-sleeved shirt buttoned up at the wrists. She looked back up at him. 

‘I’m perfectly capable of Apparating, Malfoy,’ she said primly. ‘I only had two Butterbeers. I saw you with several Firewhiskies, however. Are you sure _you_ can Apparate safely?’

As if drawn to his marks, Hermione twisted her arm so he lost her grip in his wrist, and she grasped his forearm instead, letting her fingers dance over the skin where she knew the marks lay. Draco drew a deep breath as his silver eyes sharpened, and moving so fluidly it was like he shifted through space, Draco was crowding her, his chest against her body, his arms around her waist, his breath hot against her hair. 

‘Are you offering to Apparate me home safely, Granger?’ he murmured, and Hermione shivered from head to toe as his mouth finally met her neck. 

She was lost.

It was only one night, after all.

Hermione tightened her grip on Draco as his lips met hers, and with a thunderous spark of magic, she Disapparated them back to hers.

Draco didn’t even pause to look around her house as they landed squarely in her living room. Hermione vaguely heard Crookshanks, sitting on the sofa, hiss at the intrusion in his space, but she didn’t give him a second thought as she pushed Draco none-too-gently towards her bedroom.

They didn’t _quite_ make it that far. 

Halfway down the hall, Hermione’s blouse was unbuttoned to her waist, her nipples hard through the green lace of her bra as Draco, who was completely topless, ran his hands over her breasts. She let him push her against the wall, his lips brushing against her neck, and traced the Sectumsempra scars along his torso like a map that would lead her to a hidden paradise with her own hands.

Hermione reached down to unzip his trousers, taking his already-hard length in her palm. At the same time Draco pushed Hermione’s Ministry-appropriate, navy blue pencil skirt up over her hips, groaning as he found the matching Ministry- _inappropriate_ , green, lace knickers beneath. Draco’s fingers slid under the lace, and finding her already wet and ready for him, he pushed aside her underwear and shifted her against the wall so she could guide his cock to her entrance. 

Hermione gasped as he drove in, pinning her against the wall. His hands gripped her hips as he held her in place, looking down to where his cock disappeared into her over and over. 

‘Fuck,’ he murmured under his breath, his fingers tightening against her hips. He looked up at her, silver eyes dark with desire. ‘I want you to come on my cock,’ he said, his voice tight as if he were struggling to speak. ‘Will you touch yourself?’

A thrill of lust ran from Hermione’s head to her toes. A flashback came to her of their first night, when she’d walked in on Draco wanking and how much it had turned her on. Would Draco feel the same thing if she brought herself to orgasm now? Without letting herself think any further, Hermione dropped a hand between her body and Draco’s, pressing two of her fingers against her clit.

Her body was so sensitive she arched helplessly at the touch, making Draco groan again as her hips flexed and he sank even deeper into her. 

‘Fucking _gods_ , Hermione,’ Draco muttered desperately. ‘You’re so perfect, your cunt is so tight around me. I can’t - I can’t stay away from you.’

Hermione whimpered, the combination of Draco’s words, his dick deep inside her and the feel of her own fingers bringing herself dangerously close to the edge.

‘Harry—’ was the only word she managed to say before her body trembled and tensed against the wall. With a wordless cry, she came hard around Draco, rolling her hips against Draco’s groin to ride out her orgasm. Her muscles were still shaking and her cunt still clenching around Draco’s cock when he drove himself into her one last time, cursing and coming into her, his dick pulsing and his breath short. 

They stayed locked together against the wall for several long moments, until Draco’s arms started to tremble and he unhooked her with a sigh, lowering her to the ground where she grasped onto him to balance on shaking legs. 

Together they stumbled to her bedroom, finally shedding the rest of their clothes and curling around each other on her bed.

Draco held onto her like a drowning man clinging to the last piece of a sunken ship.

’No more, Granger,’ Draco said desperately, although the way his nails dug into her skin where he held her suggested he thought otherwise. ‘We have to wait for him. He has to be here.’

Hermione just nodded against him, too tired and spent to speak. As intense as the bond between her and Draco was becoming, not having Harry with them was like missing an organ, a vital component without which they would surely flounder and die. 

Of course they had to wait. 

But they were young and in love and bound to each other.

So of course they wouldn’t.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione stood to one side with a small smile on her face, watching as her best friend had the kind of birthday morning he deserved. She saw a movement just behind Harry and slid her eyes over to find Draco watching her, his gaze a complicated mix of desire, impatience and relief. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws update and runs*

Harry James Potter had been born at ten fifteen in the evening, after a hard but uneventful labour, to an adoring Lily Potter.

It was for this reason, Hermione suspected, that Harry wasn’t waiting at her desk with a scowl on the morning of the 31st July. Instead, he was at his own desk, a happy expression on his face as Ron enveloped him in a bear hug and the other Aurors surrounded him and smothered him with hugs, backslaps, and presents.

Hermione stood to one side with a small smile on her face, watching as her best friend had the kind of birthday morning he deserved. She saw a movement just behind Harry and slid her eyes over to find Draco watching her, his gaze a complicated mix of desire, impatience and relief. 

Hermione gave him a small nod, understanding how he was feeling. She felt it too. By the end of the day, Harry would have his soul marks, and they would finally be able to find some resolution in their messy, uncertain relationship. 

Draco’s eyes shifted back to Harry, and Hermione remembered one afternoon earlier that week. Draco had quietly entered her office, sat in the chair in front of her and watched her carefully.

‘What’s up?’ she had asked, placing her eagle feather quill on her pen stand as she waited for Draco to talk. 

Her eyes strayed to his left forearm, lying on the armrest of the chair. He wore his shirtsleeves down as usual – even before, in the midst of summer, Hermione had noticed Draco wore his shirtsleeves down and knew why he never usually showed off his arms. But now, the sleeves covered another secret. He clearly saw her watching, and shifted in his seat with a familiar, irritating smirk in place.

‘My eyes are up here, Granger,’ he said, and Hermione looked up in surprise. Was Draco _teasing_ her? He was smiling, but his face quickly turned serious as he leaned forward in his seat.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ he started, looking past her and out of the window behind her back. It wasn’t a real view, of course, not from the Ministry, but she’d charmed it to look like the rolling glens she’d used to look out on from her room in the Gryffindor Tower at Hogwarts, on a quiet, misty morning. 

Draco’s eyes softened slightly at the sight, and Hermione’s heart ached to see him looking so wistful. She leaned forward, her hand itching to reach out and cover his. Then his eyes shifted, guarded once more, and refocused on her. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he repeated. ‘About Potter.’ 

Hermione hid a reluctant grin. Oh sure. Draco had just been _thinking_ about Harry, had he? He caught her eye and shook his head, sighing loudly. 

‘Not like _that_ , Granger,’ Draco said, his voice exasperated. ‘I’ve been thinking about what he’s going to find when his birthday rolls around next week.’ Draco’s hand went to his forearm, brushing against his sleeve absent-mindedly. ‘You spent six years in classes with him at Hogwarts. Do you think he’s going to recognise those constellations when he sees them?’

Hermione stared back, her mind racing. True, she had written, what, every single one of Harry’s Astronomy essays? And Harry had dropped the subject as soon as he could, preferring to keep his evenings free to play Quidditch rather than spend them cooped up in front of a telescope in the Astronomy tower. 

Before she could answer, Draco continued. ‘And that’s not all, Granger. Soul mates are rare. _Triad_ soul mates? Practically unheard of. Usually, soul mates are purebloods.’ Draco put his hand up, stopping Hermione before she even said anything. ‘No prejudice, Granger. Just facts. Potter grew up with Muggles. I knew about soul marks because I was taught about them as a child. My—’ he paused as if considering his next words. ‘My parents were soul mates. You knew because you have a brain the size of a planet and have probably read your way through both the library at Hogwarts and the library in the Ministry more than once.’

Hermione felt herself blush at his words, not sure if he meant them as an insult or a compliment. She snuck a glance at him and found him watching her with a small smile. 

He physically shook himself and continued. ‘Potter’s not going to have a clue what’s happening. And who do you think he’s going to come to with a problem he can’t solve?’

‘Me,’ she finished with a sigh. ‘Well, maybe that’s a good thing? It means I’ll be able to sit him down and explain everything to him as soon as he finds out.’

Draco didn’t look convinced. ‘Granger, it’s a lot to take in. Potter’s not going to know what’s hit him.’ Draco’s gaze drifted off to the side as his eyes turned thoughtful. ‘Maybe there’s something I can do to help move things along.’ 

Hermione watched him with curiosity, but when he looked back at her, he offered no further explanation. Instead, he looked a bit distracted and got back to his feet.

‘Leave it with me, Granger,’ he said and was gone before she could clarify exactly _what_ she was leaving in Draco’s hands.

As Hermione thought back on it now, she wondered what Draco had planned and reluctantly accepted she probably wouldn’t find out until the same time Harry did.

* * *

As was the routine for when someone in the DMLE had a birthday, Ron had booked out the Leaky Cauldron for the evening. 

As she sat with Harry at their usual table, waiting for the other Aurors and some more friends to arrive, Hermione had never felt so nervous. Because Harry hadn’t been born until so late in the evening, they still had a good few hours to go before any chance of a big revelation happened, and she felt guiltier than ever at hiding something so monumental from her best friend. 

Draco joined them at the Leaky Cauldron along with another group of Aurors. He handed Harry a small, beautifully wrapped present - in red paper and gold ribbon, Hermione noticed with a smile - and stiffly wished him a happy birthday before sliding in the booth next to Hermione. She gave him a weak smile, and he gently laid his hand over hers, out of sight under the table. 

Comforted by Draco’s fingers stroking soft patterns into her skin, Hermione turned her attention back to Harry. He was inelegantly pulling the beautiful wrapping paper from the parcel, causing Draco to wince dramatically next to her, and Harry’s green eyes clouded in confusion when he pulled a book free from the wrappings. Draco’s hand tightened on Hermione’s. 

Harry turned the book over in his hands and finally looked up, his gaze meeting Draco’s. ‘Er, thanks, Malfoy,’ Harry said, the confusion apparent in his voice, as he gently placed the book on the table. 

Hermione’s breath caught when she read the title: _CARLISLE’S COMPLETE CONSTELLATIONARY._

‘Subtle,’ she hissed out of the side of her mouth. ‘Did you underline the relevant pages so he knows what to look for?’ 

‘Even I have a little more faith in Potter than that, Granger,’ Draco drawled as he shifted his thigh so it pressed against hers. 

Hermione bit her lower lip to stop herself from making an embarrassing and unexplainable sound at the table. She saw Draco duck his head, hiding a grin, and knew he’d felt the pulse of her magic against his. 

‘Stop it,’ she hissed quietly to him, but he just pressed his thigh harder against hers. Hermione was about to chastise him further when she caught Harry watching them both with thinly-veiled interest. Instead, she plastered a bright smile on her face, and Harry’s expression softened slightly. He turned away as Ron clapped him on the shoulder.

They watched as Seamus, Dean and Neville joined the pair of them and lined up several shots of Wixen Fire, a notoriously strong wizarding spirit that tasted like Pepper Imps and had the same smoke-from-the-ears effect. Harry groaned in distress but allowed the others to bully him into downing all four of them, one after the other. 

Hermione and Draco watched the smoke erupt from Harry’s ears and his so-called friends laugh in delight and clap him on the back. 

_Boys_ , thought Hermione in exasperation. How much had they changed since Hogwarts, really?

‘Have you ever noticed how wonderfully submissive Potter can be?’ Draco asked her idly, swirling the Firewhisky in his tumbler as he did. Hermione could feel her eyes widen in surprise, and she shot Draco a warning glance, trying to control the sudden heat of desire that flared somewhere deep inside her. 

‘C’mon, Granger,’ Draco lowered his voice and leaned in until his lips were almost brushing the shell of her ear, the ghost of his breath sending electric shivers down her spine. ‘You’re telling me you’ve never had a fantasy of Potter tied down and doing your bidding? Looking up at you with adoration in those gorgeous, green eyes of his, ready to worship you like the goddess you are?’

Hermione whimpered at Draco’s unexpectedly dirty words, feeling a rush of wetness flood her cunt. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, suddenly wishing she and Draco were somewhere more private. Preferably with Harry there too. 

She shook her head in a desperate attempt to clear the unexpected - but not unwelcome - image of Harry naked and bound and on his knees before her. She imagined he’d look at her with the same familiar, crooked smile he gave her in those moments when they were alone and sharing a private moment. 

_Gods_ , _Hermione_ , she thought to herself. _Snap out of it!_

Draco pulled away slightly, a triumphant smirk on his lips. Hermione scowled at him, wanting to kiss the smirk off his stupid face. 

Ten-fifteen came and went, with no big revelation or showdown. As the clock grew nearer and nearer to midnight, Hermione found herself becoming more and more impatient. If Harry wasn’t going to notice his soul marks tonight, she couldn’t wait much longer before dragging Draco alone to her bed instead.

The way Draco’s hand had slowly crawled up her thigh under the table all evening suggested he was feeling quite similarly. As his impatient fingers finally reached the apex of her thighs, stroking her sex beneath her skirt, Hermione squirmed and jumped to her feet.

‘Well, Harry,’ she said with a strangled voice. ‘It’s getting late. Happy birthday, enjoy the rest of the evening.’

A rather bemused-looking Harry stood as well to give her a hug and drop a gentle kiss against her cheek. 

‘Can you Apparate safely, Hermione?’ Harry asked in concern, and Draco slowly stood from the table as well.

‘I’ll make sure she gets home safe, Potter,’ Draco said quietly, and Hermione noticed the trust in Harry’s eyes as he nodded in response.

’Thanks, Malfoy,’ he said, giving him a quick slap on the back. ‘Have a great weekend, yeah? See you Monday.’

Hermione hurried out of the pub, Draco’s hand resting on her lower back as he guided her out and into the summer evening air of Diagon Alley. When he looked down at her, his eyes were so dilated they were almost all black. 

‘Yours or mine?’ he asked huskily, brushing a loose curl back behind her ear.

‘Mine,’ she responded, already breathless, and a second later Draco Apparated them both away. 

* * *

It was midnight by the time they collapsed onto the bed together. 

Draco had his hands on Hermione’s waist and his lips brushing her neck. Her dress was rucked up around her hips and her lace knickers sodden as she writhed against his muscled thigh, trying and failing to find some relief for the burning in her core. Draco chuckled darkly as she whined in frustration, and one of his hands trailed down between her legs, stroking the lace over her clit far too lightly. 

‘I thought we were waiting for Potter,’ Draco murmured, and Hermione arched herself against him. Finally, he took pity on her and slid his finger beneath the lace, stroking her clit again with more pressure. Hermione groaned in pleasure.

‘He— he probably won’t come ‘round tonight,’ she protested weakly, her hands clutching at Draco’s hair. ‘Not now. It’s late, and he hasn’t noticed them yet.’

Soon they were naked, with Draco holding his dick and trailing the head along Hermione’s entrance. She hooked her legs around his hips, desperate to have him inside her. He was just pushing his cock into her when a loud, worried, achingly familiar voice called from the hallway.

‘Hermione?’ 

Hermione scrambled from beneath Draco as if she had been burned. She looked at him in a panic, his eyes as wide as hers.

‘Fuck,’ Draco muttered, running his hand through his hair. 

Hermione reached desperately for the nearest clothes she found scattered on her bedroom floor, pulling them on and hurrying out of her room.

‘Hermione!’ Harry’s panicked voice carried from the Floo again, and when Hermione rounded the corner, she found him waiting for her. He’d stepped through the fireplace - her wards were keyed to always allow him through - and his green eyes were full of the same fire and worry she recognised from school when he knew someone was in trouble. ‘Hermione, thank Merlin, I need to talk to you.’

Harry looked so lost and confused. Hermione reached for him without thinking, her hand grasping his. Harry gasped, and Hermione snatched her hand away in alarm. He had obviously felt it too, the inevitable rush of heat and magic when their skin touched. She looked up at him, and he looked back with alarm. 

‘Hermione, what’s happening?’ Harry asked with a surprisingly steady voice, idly rubbing his hand where it had touched Hermione. ‘What was that? And what are— I mean, I have these… these _marks_ on me, that weren’t there before. And the book Malfoy gave me…’ 

Harry’s ramblings came to a sudden stop, his eyes focusing on something beyond her shoulder. His expression darkened.

Hermione cursed under her breath and slowly turned. 

Draco had emerged from the bedroom, dressed only the dark jeans he’d been wearing at the pub. His feet were bare, his hair uncharacteristically tousled, and his scar-crossed torso unashamedly on display. 

Harry’s eyes were locked on Draco’s forearm, however. 

Not the one with the faded Dark Mark, but the other one.

The one that bore Hermione’s star sign and the very same scar that adorned Harry’s forehead. 

‘Fuck,’ Harry muttered bleakly, taking a step backwards. ‘So it’s true then? These marks - they’re for you two, aren’t they?’ Harry shook his head as if to clear it, and when his gaze slid back to Hermione, his eyes were glittering like chips of granite. ’And you both clearly knew about this already. And what, Hermione, you’re—’ Here, Harry broke away, running his hand through his messy hair. ‘You’re fucking _him_ , are you? Neither of you thought to maybe sit me down and explain this to me, let me down gently?’ Harry’s voice had risen, taking on the ring of anger Hermione hadn’t heard since the war ended. 

‘Potter—’ Draco tried, his voice firm but pleading at the same time. Harry held up one hand, palm facing Draco, and Draco stopped in bewilderment. 

‘Don’t, Malfoy,’ Harry hissed. ‘I don’t want to hear it. I can’t - I can’t be here right now.’ 

Ignoring Hermione’s cry of protest, Harry grabbed a handful of Floo powder and stepped back into the fireplace, calling out for Grimmauld Place. 

He disappeared before their eyes, and Hermione couldn’t help the tear that escaped her eye when the presence of his magic was violently ripped away from theirs.


End file.
